Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

Its quiet in here. A quiet that fills my ears with a roaring so intense I feel as though I’ll surely be deaf from its static sound. I feel the blood rushing through my veins, pounding behind my eyes. I’m scared. Something is down there. Something is waiting for me. Waiting for the right moment to strike. The right moment to rend both body and mind. What is down there? From where does it come? How long must I fight my fear before sleep overtakes me and I awake with this memory as a half forgotten dream? There must be something there! This can’t be a conjuring of my own mind. I can’t be doing this to myself, can I? I have nothing hidden. I have nothing lurking in the recesses of my mind. Nothing dark. Silent as the absence of sound around me now. Thick and hungry as my pulse. I’m not afraid…of myself?

Another component of prompt sharing that I find particularly rewarding is learning about someone else through the exchange. You get a rare opportunity to see something of that person’s intrinsic creativity; their view of the world as seen through their eyes. I’ve shared prompts with many people but the person I enjoy writing with the most has been my mother. Many times we share a similar tone or quality in the prompts themselves if not in the resultant writing. I’ve found that some of my most creative writing has been found in prompts we have exchanged. I’ve always appreciated that shared creative inspiration regardless of how divergent the outcome, which in itself is something to deeply appreciate and respect.

A few prompts are sitting in my inbox right now. I’m looking forward to what they prompt on this blog.

I want to want no more.

Ohm…
People flitting about from building to building
as honey bees seethe through their hives
Concrete and gravel coat the earth
as hard as the stone in the rocky valleys

Ohm…
The city teems with life as…
I wake up dead from a nightmare of congestion

The piece below was written as a quick reaction to a now forgotten poem a professor read in a class I attended. Whatever the words, the imagery it conjured was of me watching my father find his name on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington D.C.

The professor picks two poems
The class hears them as he speaks
With one my interest mildly sits
the other raises my level of awareness
while catching me off guard
I’m gone from class and sit in myself
as I was many years ago
My father with that worn Air Force parka and black bandanna
the sign “Another Viet Vet for peace” forgotten at his side
And I see it, I see his name
his whole self reflected in my father’s eyes.

Why couldn’t I save you? Why couldn’t I have helped? What is there left to say? I know. Remember. Remember the gazebo in the park on that perfect day. Fall leaves circling around us. The crisp breeze lifting your hair. And the colors. Oh the colors. Like a landscape painted just for us.

“I love you.”
“I love you to.”
“Will you dance with me?” I asked
“But there’s no music.” You said
“There is always music…you just have to listen…”

I saw him recently at a funeral. He seemed fragile, depleted, sad. Attempting to display a front of calm compassion and support came across as nervous confusion. He looked like a puzzle piece that arrives at the table only to find a more compatible piece has taken its place. I remember speaking with him briefly. I remember overhearing his nearby conversations with relatives. I can’t seem to recall any of the words however. All that comes to mind is thinking “He is shorter than I remember him”.

While I could mourn for summer, I am looking forward to many things about the coming winter. Slow snow falls in the quiet of the night. The underglow of the city lights on clouds of grey. Piles of blankets and good books. Cold walks around the lake.

Hello winter.